Montour Trail Bridge Openings, July 2012

I was visiting my friend Judy in Western Pennsylvania during July. I was five months out of surgery, and still so weak I'd fall asleep BEFORE I went for a hike. However, I knew I wanted to ride my bike on a trail for my first rides, not only because I wanted to be surrounded by nature but because I expected I'd be safer if I fell or had another problem. And I knew the Montour Trail was opening two new bridges July 28, so Judy and I headed out to the celebrations.

The Montour Trail is one of the great successes in Pennsylvania rail to trail conversions. The trail uses the former Montour Railroad route, and runs in a 46 mile curve between the Ohio River west of Pittsburgh and the Monongahela at Clairton. It connects to the Great Allegheny Passage via the on-road Steel Valley Trail at Clairton.

I've twice ridden large stretches of the Montour, and its a fun trail, with bridges, tunnels, scenic views and slag heaps and artifacts of the railroad days. Its also very much a work in progress, with six miles of trail yet to be constructed, and workarounds for unfinished segments. When I previously rode it in 2009, I joked it should be called the Detour Trail.

Among the most irritating of those gaps on previous rides were grade crossings at Morganza and Georgetown Roads. The crossings were steep, rocky, and came one after the other in less than a fifth of a mile. They were tough when hauling a trailer.

Fortunately the Montour Trail Council and the many volunteers working on projects accomplish great things, as shown by the morning I went to the bridge dedications. The grade crossings at Morganza and Georgetown Roads were no more, and shiny new bridges connected the isolated two tens of a mile of trail between the two roads. I took some photos of the opening ceremonies. They aren't great photography, but I post them as a modest contribution to the historical record...

My riding wasn't very long or very impressive. I'd ridden a stationary bike in physical therapy, but as anyone can tell you stationary bikes aren't 'real' bicycles. The biggest problem I had was getting my right foot onto the pedal when I pushed off. Having lived with my right leg knocked since childhood, the muscles weren't used to moving the leg in a different manner than they had. And when I put my right foot down, it was landing in a place I wasn't expecting it to. It took about two minutes of fumbling to get under way. Once I was in motion I found out that riding a bicycle is like riding a bicycle - you never forget.

When I stopped to turn around, I went through the same fumbling for the pedal. At one point I spent a couple of minutes perched on the side of one of the bridges, holding the railing, as other cyclists rode past me. I wanted the area around me to be clear in case I was wobbly or had to stop suddenly. Also, my confidence was elsewhere that morning. But again I eventually was moving and once I was moving I was fine. I rode a little more than one mile, but the longest journey starts with a single step. Or pedal.

One side benefit of attending the trail opening is that I rode, for a minute at least, with my friend Troy. The actor and organic farmer lives in Western PA and so I rarely get the pleasure of his company.

I'll be back on the Montour Trail later this year. My stamina will be much improved from last year, and besides, they have another bridge opening up.... the Montour volunteers accomplish great things. 

Clarion/Little Toby Trail

In September I took time off to camp, hike, and ride in Tioga and Elk Counties. I needed to be away from the city and in touch with nature. One of the best experiences from the eight days I was in the woods was riding a portion of the Clarion/Little Toby Trail. The rail trail starts in Ridgway and runs along the Clarion River until the confluence with the Little Toby Creek, when it turns and tracks along the smaller stream to the town of Brockway. It had been on my short list of trails to ride for years.

My friend Judy and I stated from the Brockway trailhead and rode six miles to the swinging bridge over Little Toby Creek.   The trail surface was crushed stone, as is common on Western PA rail trails, and appeared to be well-maintained. The scenery wasn't mountainous, but it was pretty, with the leaves beginning to change from green to the riot of fall.

 I don't know how long the wire and wood swinging bridge has hung over Little Toby Creek, but it appears to be well-used. I tested it, but first getting to the bridge tested me. The short walk down from the trail was steeper than I was used to, and then there was this step.... (The rest of the photos in this blog post are by Judy, who is a better photographer than I am.)

It took me about five minutes to figure out a way up that step. I finally saw no way but to tackle it as I normally would - which meant applying my entire body weight on one foot - and through one knee. And guess what? It worked. My muscles in my left leg and back got a workout, but I got up the step. 

Now to cross the Little Toby. Did I mention I have a fear of heights?

The far side of the bridge has an overgrown picnic area and what looks like bushwacked hiking trails. I didn't explore them. Perhaps another day. So Judy and I crossed again. Feel free to imagine whatever metaphors you see in my journey across the bridge.






























We called it a day at this point.  My stamina was a lot less than before I was operated on, and I was afraid riding further down the trail would mean I'd not have the strength to get back. The ride back to the car in Brockway was slow but uneventful. I was tired, but glad I'd been out.

Knee Replacement

Since I've mentioned it a couple of times in my posts, I thought I'd provide an example of the knees I had to hike and ride with for years. In the photo below, I'm the hunched guy on the left. Note in particular the right leg. The knock was severe enough that by 2011 I not only had to give up hiking, but I wasn't able to ride my road bike any longer as even with extenders on the spindles I couldn't get my right foot on the pedal. I was able to ride my hybrid, since that bike had longer spindles to begin with.

Here's before and after. The photo on the left is from a May 2011 bike ride. Notice my right foot is angled out 25 degrees in addition to the knock. Also, the left doesn't have a full extension, which meant I basically walked with my knees bent. Despite my joints I hiked up a small mountain in 2010, rode a two week tour in 2009, and did a century ride in 2007. But by 2011 I'd given up hiking, and cycling was over by year end. 

The photo on the right is July 2012, five months after surgery. Same bike, same jersey, but my legs are straight and I'm two inches taller from the straightening of the legs and the additional height the artificial joint gives me. (The artificial joint is larger than the natural knee.)

Since the surgery I've beaten my best previous hikes in distance. This past winter I walked the bike trail in Valley Forge for seven miles, which beats my January 2007 six mile hike in Philadelphia. Also, after the 2013 hike I felt sore but otherwise OK. I felt like I was going to die after the Philadelphia walk in 2007. While riding hasn't seen the same success, I'm gradually increasing my stamina and I expect to be back to my previous level of activity by the end of the year. 

Artificial knees aren't a cure all, especially for the outdoorsman. While I have little or no knee pain any longer, I can still have swelling after strenuous or long exercise, and in the rain as well. Still, its an improvement over my diseased joints. I pushed myself to my limits before. I'm finding out what those limits are now on my new joints. 

Roark's Farewell Ride: Price, Maryland

Once upon a time there was a fat man who didn't know how to ride a bicycle. He turned 40, lost a lot of weight, and purchased a bulky upright bike to learn how to ride. After he did, he bought a flat bar road bike, named it Roark after the hero of The Fountainhead, and then put thousands of miles on it.

But just like this attempt to write about myself in the third person, all such fairy tales must end. I had surgery to replace my diseased and deformed knees in 2012, and one side effect was that I got two inches taller. Aside from the problem of replacing my trousers, all of a sudden my bike was too small for me. I was cramped riding it. It hurt my back. Roark felt slow and heavy. It was time. I resolved to sell Roark that spring, but I took him for one last ride. Knowing I was going to be in Maryland in April for a rocketry event, I planned on taking Roark with me.

On the second day of Red Glare I left Chris standing in the field photographing rockets and rolled out. Price is on the Eastern Shore, and the riding is flattish and rural. I'd passed within ten miles of my route when I rolled through Delmarva in 2009 on a two week bike tour, so I knew what to expect from the terrain. In retrospect I was too confident. I left my maps back at the car.

And the inevitable happened. My goal was Tuckahoe State Park, ten miles distant, but I turned the wrong way. I don't regret the roads I took, however. For instance, I came across this lovely little graveyard. If you look closely you can see Roark waiting patiently for his owner, as he did hundreds of times before.

My guydar allowed me to figure out the way back to the launch site without a map. I had some help from the rocketry event - at one point I followed the smoke trails. I stopped at the only rise of any kind on the route to get a photo of Roark. This will be how I remember my first 'real' ride - a sunny, breezy day in rural Maryland, my blood flowing, legs moving, and all the world belonging to Roark and me.

This was our last ride. Two weeks later Roark was sold to my local bike shop.

Short Ride on a Fast Machine: Cumberland Valley Rail Trail

My last outdoor activity for Memorial Day weekend was a bike ride on the Cumberland Valley Rail Trail. I considered riding the loop created using the bike path and Route 233 in Pine Grove Furnace State Park, but I recalled I'd never ridden the CVRT to the end. Also, I'd never been to Shippensburg, and as a small college town drivers must be used to seeing people on bikes. That settled it, and once I was done with my hike at Tumbling Run I turned the car north to the Newville trailhead.

The Cumberland Valley Rail Trail runs a fine gravel course of ten miles from Newville into the historic district in Shippensburg. The trail passes through farm country, and has some beautiful views of South Mountain. Along the way it passes some parallel low traffic roads and a couple of parks, both of which are benefits for a person riding the trail - I enjoy adding some road riding to my trail rides to give a different perspective to the ground I'd just covered. One oddity about the CVRT is that its the only rail trail I can think of that doesn't follow or is near a body of water. But despite the absence of lake or stream views, I enjoyed the trail when I rode it in 2009, and I looked forward to riding it again.

I arrived at the Newville trailhead, which consists of bathrooms housed in the restored train station, changed,  put air in the tires, and set out. Aside from a downed tree across the trail which required me to dismount and duck under it, progress was smooth and fast. My bike, Notung, rode well. Soon we were out of the tunnel of trees and brush and facing South Mountain across a stretch of farmland.

And riding a few feet from where I took these photos I heard a gunshot report. I dismounted and saw that the rear tube had blown up. Of course I left my spares and pump back at the car. So I had little choice but walk the two and a half miles back, rolling my now disabled bike.

While I was annoyed I'd blown the tube, and that my ride ended, I tried to remain cheerful. Walking is exercise too. It was a beautiful trail. It wasn't raining. And I'd had knee replacement to allow me to do such things - I'd have had to beg a ride if this had happened in 2011. I ended Memorial Day with seven miles of hiking and walking, and two and a half of riding.  Not bad stats at all.

I'll be returning to the Cumberland Valley Rail Trail sometime soon. But I'll bring spare tubes next time.

SRT, Cromby to Parkersford

The longest bike path in Eastern Pennsylvania is the forever in progress Schuylkill River Trail. The SRT, when complete, will run from the Delaware River in Philadelphia 130 miles to Pottsville, headwaters of the Schuylkill and home of Yuengling, America's oldest brewery. (I expect ultracyclists will complete the ride in a single day and then have a Yuenling as a recovery beverage. But I digress....)  But its far from complete at the moment. The biggest chunk, the paved trail from Philadelphia to Mont Clare, is 26 miles or so. From Mont Clare the trail skips and jumps between gaps and sections on roads. One day the trail will be complete; perhaps my grandchildren will see it happen.

The most recently opened stretch of trail was between Cromby, outside of Phoenixville, and Parkersford, passing through Spring City. I rode a stretch of it in 2011, as one of my last rides before surgery. But I'd never done the whole segment, and now I had a bike that fit me. Chris joined me at the trailhead in Parkersford, and we set out.

Well, Chris set out. I had my usual small problem. Years of moving a crooked leg onto the right pedal gave me a set of muscles and a mind that is adjusting to a new pedal stroke. It took me a minute to get my foot onto the pedal. But once underway, I felt like myself again.

There's no need to adjust your monitor; that color splash in background of the photo above is Chris. Admittedly he's riding a bike that's designed to be ridden in ordinary clothing, but then again there's nothing ordinary about Chris' attire. 

The trail segment ranges from flat and well-groomed fine gravel as it nears Spring City and Phoenixville, and slightly rougher in condition elsewhere. The two parts I enjoyed most were the slight climb up from the Cromby trailhead, and a stretch along the river which reminds me of the railroad cuts on Western Pennsylvania rail trails. The area below, for instance, brings the Great Allegheny Passage to mind. 

It was a good dozen miles for me. Chris seemed to enjoy it as well, although he found riding on gravel harder than riding on pavement. For my part, the two big problems I had were the difficulty with my right foot, and my hands going numb. I'm sure time and practice will let me correct both troubles. 

Appalachian Trail Conservancy Headquarters, Harpers Ferry, WV

After the CASA ride in Shepherdstown, my friend and I drove the ten miles to Harpers Ferry to visit the headquarters of the Appalachian Trail Conservancy. The ATC headquarters is located on the edge of the historic district in the town, next to the buildings of Storer College. We parked at a church a block from the headquarters and followed the backpackers.

The ATC consists of a store, a scale model of the trail, some displays about notable hikers and the history of the trail, and a hiker's lounge with a bathroom, shower, couches, microwave, and a hiker's box. In addition there's a bulletin board outside the building for messages. The displays were interesting, although not as extensive as those at the AT Museum in Pine Grove Furnace.  I searched for a panel on Mark Sanford, perhaps the only politician ever to use hiking the AT as a cover story for cheating on his wife, but he was missing. Oh well, perhaps next year.

All in all, the ATC headquarters was a nice place to visit for a few minutes. Its not the prime reason to visit Harpers Ferry, but its worth a stop. And any purchases support the trail. 

There was one question unresolved in my mind as I left. And three weeks later it still nags at me. 

Did Hedgehog ever call Tebow? And what did they talk about?

Hawk Mountain

I hate not accomplishing what I set out to do. I especially hate it when its something that should be within my abilities. And nothing irked me as much as not hiking all the way to the North Lookout at Hawk Mountain, the internationally known raptor conservancy.

Friends told me the North Lookout, which is where the Hawk Mountain volunteers conduct the annual raptor counts during the fall migration, was a do not miss view. "Its easy. Much easier than The Pinnacle, which is across the valley." Since I'd heard The Pinnacle was amazing and the two overlooks faced each other, I figured Hawk Mountain's North Lookout had to pretty impressive. Photos on the Internet showed it to be the case. So I put the trail on my short list for hiking.

I first tried to hike to the North Lookout in 2010. I was stunned by the view from the South Lookout, which is only 200 yards from the entrance to the trails. I'm reproducing that photo here, so you might experience what I did three years ago. The light was magical.....

But I didn't get to the North Lookout that trip, because as the trail became rockier my knees hurt more and my confidence grew less. So I turned around and walked back to my car, defeat on my shoulders. By 2011 my knees had become so bad that I gave up hiking, and part of my soul died when I did.

In 2012, fresh after a bilateral knee replacement, I tried again. I got no further than I did in 2010. I turned back. It was too soon after surgery. I still had the stiff-legged walk of a marionette, and a dropped foot from the straightening of my right leg. At times when I put down my right foot I'd be surprised where it landed. Not a good trait for a hike on rocks. And it didn't help my weight had soared due to the long recovery from surgery.

By April of this year I was ready again. My dropped foot condition was largely resolved. My weight was dropping like, well,  a stone. And my confidence was back. I met my friends Dodson and Chris and we headed out.

The South Lookout, of course, wasn't difficult to reach. And neither were the next few. But then the rocks began to increase in number and size, and soon enough this was the trail.

The climbing increased, and eventually we reached a set of stone steps to the Lookout.

I climbed them. Not with grace, because I found them challenging in places. But I climbed them. 

Then it was a matter of crossing the rocks at the Lookout. On the edge was one of the most scenic views in Pennsylvania. I just had to pick my way through some rocks.

And in a few minutes I'd done it. I grabbed the rail to steady myself, and drank in the view.

Not quite an epic hike. People of all ages do this hike every day. But sometimes it feels good to do what everybody else does. 

Route 202 Parkway Trail, Doylestown

As one of the first rides on my newly repaired bike, in April I met my friend Chris for a sixteen mile trip on the new Route 202 Parkway Trail. The trail is new, as is the stretch of Route 202 it follows. It offers a car-free transit between Doylestown and the outskirts of Montgomeryville, and as PENDOT reconstructs the roadway south the trail could be extended as far as Norristown.

Chris and I met at Doylestown's Central Park, and rode the connecting trail over to the parkway. I felt strong, stronger than I had riding my other bike. One rise did defeat me, but that was stamina, not muscle power. Part of the problem might have been the saddle was too low. I didn't notice until I was a couple of miles from the car, and I'd forgotten my multi-tool. I rode with it as is because I don't have anything in my knees to hurt anymore. The clicking was annoying, however, and I resolved to get a better saddle height so I didn't have to listen to my joints on the next ride.

Aside from the rise that defeated me, I found the regular road crossings annoying. When they designed the trail they included grade crossings at intersections and having to stop and press the signals to cross slowed me down. Still, despite the crossings, its a pretty trail and I enjoy riding it.

So did Chris. As he makes his first appearance on this blog, I should introduce him. I met Chris on a bicycle message board I used to post to, and suggested we meet for a hike. We did, and we hit it off.  He was 430 some pounds at the time. He's now working to make himself less of a man, with the help of riding and hiking as motivators. Apart from his size he cuts a distinctive appearance on the trail; he rides a recumbent, and his fashion sense is an odd mixture of foppishness and sloppiness - imagine Oscar Wilde and Oscar Madison as one, if you will.

We finished with sixteen miles, and as usual with us we went to Olive Garden for dinner and to Planet Fitness to work out afterward. Dinner came none too soon, as the photo indicates....

Appalachian Trail Museum, Pine Grove Furnace State Park

A short walk from the Ironmaster's Mansion hostel and the Pine Grove Furnace General Store is the Appalachian Trail Museum. Located in a restored building from the iron days of the site, the museum has exhibits about the trail and some of the notable through hikers. I'd joked to one of my friends "what would the AT museum house? Grandma Gatewood's sneakers?" And I was right. Note that Grandma Gatewood was ahead of her time in wearing Keds on the trail; minimalist shoes are now all the rage.

Despite my jokes, I found looking at the gear, including footwear, to be interesting. Of course the trail today is different than when Earl Schaffer laced up his Red Wings in 1948 for the first documented through hike. But modern gear and technology only helps the hiker, it doesn't make the hiker. Its not the shoes that hike the AT, its the man or woman in them. 

Aside from Shaffer and Gatewood, a half-dozen other pioneers of the trail were profiled. I checked and Mark Sanford wasn't among them, but aside from that omission the museum was fascinating. The centerpiece of the museum is an old trail shelter, and the walls are covered with signs from the trail, including the end all northbound folks want to see.

I'm glad I devoted a little bit of time to visiting the Appalachian Trail Museum, and I encourage you to do so as well.

The Half-Gallon Challenge

While I was at Pine Grove Furnace State Park over Memorial Day weekend I observed a bizarre and gruesome spectacle. No, it wasn't a bear eating anybody. That might have been preferable. Instead it was the Half-Gallon Challenge.

Pine Grove Furnace is traditionally considered the halfway mark on the Appalachian Trail. (The actual halfway mark changes year to year as the trail is rerouted around problem areas.) Since 1980 its been customary for the through hiker to stop at the Pine Grove Furnace General Store and consume a half-gallon of ice cream in one sitting. Purists will tell you there's an hour time limit, but I think the law "hike your own hike" applies to ice cream gorging as well.

Sunday morning I walked over to the store from the Ironmaster's Mansion to witness Eleven, a twenty-three year old through hiker, down her Hershey's Moose Chips for breakfast. She was soon joined by Dundee, an older man with next to no meat on his bones. Both dug in. Eleven asked I not photograph her, but Dundee was game....

The older man had done his research. Survivors have said the process goes better if you consume a hamburger or other hot food midway. He did so, although Dundee said he regretted getting the burger with onions. Veterans also suggest getting an ice cream without additions such as chips or chunks, but Dundee said he needed the additional calories.

Both Eleven and Dundee were very sleepy by the time they finished. Meanwhile a group of four young men had arrived, downed four half-gallons of chocolate, and were napping on the grass across from the store.

While the spectacle of the challenge brought to mind Mel Brook's line from The Producers that actors are animals because of their eating habits, the calorie consumption has a point. Backpacking 15 miles a day or more over rolling terrain burns an enormous amount of fuel. They have to get the calories somewhere. I'm familiar with the problem from my bike tours. When you ride long distances hauling camping gear, anything you through into the furnace burns. That said, I've never downed a half-gallon of ice cream.

CASA Ride, Shepherdstown, West Virginia

As mentioned in a couple of previous entries, I participated in a group ride in West Virginia on May 18. The CASA ride has been a long time favorite of a friend, and he suggested I join him on it. I said yes this time, but signed up for the 25 mile course instead of the 50 as a concession to my current fitness level. There was a century option available as well, but I didn't even consider it. Perhaps another day.

CASA stands for Court Appointed Special Advocate, and the advocacy is for children in foster care. CASA volunteers are trained to investigate cases where children have been removed from their home, prepare a report, and submit their findings to the court and other agencies. CASA is a nationwide program and its CASA of the Eastern Panhandle of WV that's the beneficiary of any fundraising that takes place leading up the ride. Cyclists are encouraged, but not required, to collect money for CASA; being already committed to fundraising for the MS City to Shore I just paid my entry fee and left it at that.

The sight of a mass of cyclists preparing their bikes early in the morning isn't a new one for me, but its not been a familiar one for a while. My last big charity ride was in 2009. I was registered for CASA in 2012 but didn't go because I was in poor condition after surgery; I'd have had problems with the drive down, let alone the bike ride. But in 2013 I am stronger, and I was one of a couple hundred people getting ready in the parking lot and sidewalks of the Shepherd Health Center at Shepherd University.

There is no mass start for the CASA rides. My friend left at a quarter to eight and I was rolling a few minutes later. I rolled down the driveway, turned right onto the road, and was off.

I felt strong, surprisingly strong, as I climbed a small rise. I made the turn from the main street and onto the back roads that made up the bulk of the course, and I still felt in command. "This is West Virginia? The Mountain State?" I thought.

The first problem on the ride came soon after. And it was one specific to me. As I've told many people, and no one believes, I am not a cyclist. Or not a cyclist as most people understand the term. The motion of the bike and my body's interaction with the bike mean little to me. I don't go fast because it gives me little thrill. I'm not entirely sure why I ride a bike, but as far as I can tell its because a bike lets me cover more ground than hiking. When I hike I stop and look at things. When I ride I stop and look too.

And so, when I came across a stream and cattle pasture, I dismounted and took photos.

\

Other rides poured past me, looking at the road ahead, seeing me standing with a camera, and calling out "are you OK?" "Yes" I said. I was OK. I was doing what I do.

I stopped at this rural church for photos. Again rides passing me assumed something was wrong. No, everything is right.

The first third of the ride was on rural roads, surprisingly flat for the most part. It was on one of these I had my first real problem. When shifting into the big ring I crosschained. I took a minute to fix it, and moved on.

As I reached the nine mile mark I noticed the course switched to a bike path. "Hmm, flat riding" I thought. Never fear. This is West Virginia. The multi use path running alongside Route 9 between Martinsburg and Charles Town is a roller coaster. The climbs were beyond my abilities, and I had to walk them. Aside from the climbs, the trail was enjoyable. Not much could be done for the scenery, because most of it is looking down on Route 9.

After a well staffed and stocked rest stop at mile 16, it was back on the Route 9 trail for another couple of miles, and then back on low traffic roads. While I am sure West Virginia has drivers who don't like cyclists, I've yet to meet one. While waiting for a train to cross an intersection, one driver struck up a conversation with me.

"How many miles y'all riding?"

"Twenty-five"

"Wow, that's a lot."

"Some folks are riding a hundred."

"A hundred!" He shook his head. "I can't imagine spending that much time on a bike seat."

The train cleared the crossing, and the gates were rising.

"Good luck! You'll do OK." And he drove off.

My friend Ed, a native of West Virginia, once said that people in his state are so friendly because they expect everyone they meet to be their friend unless they prove to be otherwise. I think I agree.

I rolled on, but I was growing tired. I was stopping more frequently and for longer. I rested at this farm five miles out.

After walking up a hill that did honor to West Virginia's reputation, I had two problems develop. One is another episode of cross chaining. I need to have the front derailer adjusted. The second is blurred vision. I tried to clean my glasses, but the problem happened again after a few minutes. It doesn't appear to be fatigue related, because my vision restored to normal once I stopped riding. Also, I found all I needed to do when riding was look at the bike frame and my focus was restored. I suspect the script for my glasses needs to changed. 

I rolled back to the Shepherd Health Center for lunch. The CASA rides are known for their food, and Pizza Hut, Chik-fil-A, and the Bavarian Inn of Shepherdstown provided most of the meals. I enjoyed a brautwurst from the Bavarian Inn while I waited for my friend to finish his fifty mile route. I was tired, but for the first time since my surgery I completed a 26 and a half mile ride. What's more, as I celebrated my ride alongside others celebrating theirs, for the first time in years I didn't feel out of place. My rides are different than theirs, but at the end we all come together. Even if its over pizza and brautwurst.